Authors: Alice Duncan
Nick
grinned. He was sure of it. Charles would be a damned hero. He probably
wanted to parade his injuries in front of his friends. “Mothers can
sure be a pain in the neck, can’t they?”
“Nicky
Taggart, don’t you be putting ideas in my boy’s head!” came the
words, loud, from the kitchen.
The
two males exchanged a meaningful glance, as if to agree that Mrs. Johnson
had just proved Nick’s point.
“You
wanna thee Mith Gibb?”
“If
she’s up and about. I need to tell her something.”
“Thure
thing, Uncle Nicky.”
And,
as Nick paced the Johnsons’ small front parlor, Charles went to fetch
Eulalie.
He
grimaced when she walked into the room. “Shoot, Miss Eulalie, that
cheek looks sore.”
She
sighed. “It is. I could probably cover the bruise with makeup, but
until the swelling goes down, I suppose Mr. Chivers won’t want me
to appear in front of an audience.”
Nick
wasn’t so sure about that. Dooley was a nice enough fellow, but he
wasn’t exactly overflowing with the milk of human kindness. As long
as Eulalie looked good in her costumes—and she did, damn it—he wouldn’t
give a hang if her cheek was a little chubby. However, he didn’t want
Eulalie to know that. The longer she stayed away from all those slathering,
lust-crazed men, the better Nick would like it. He particularly didn’t
like it when Lieutenant Fuller in his damned snappy uniform showed up,
because Eulalie always fawned over him, a spectacle Nick would sooner
live without.
Although,
he thought with a sense of satisfaction washing through him, pretty
soon he wouldn’t have to worry about things like that. Any man who
got too close to Eulalie, including that damned encroaching lieutenant,
would have to deal with Nick Taggart. The notion made his juices run
a little too freely, and he cursed inwardly and hoped like fire that
Eulalie wouldn’t glance below his belt. To disguise his condition,
he held his hat in front of him.
“Please,
Mr. Taggart, sit down,” said Eulalie graciously. “I’m interested
in hearing what you have to tell me.”
So
he sat and put his hat in his lap. It was getting painful, hanging around
with Eulalie. He’d sure be glad when he could assuage his condition—which
meant that he and Junius had to get her house built
pronto
. “Junius
and I are going to take a trip up to the mountains to get some logs,
and we can begin building your house on Saturday.”
It
gave Nick a warm feeling in his chest when Eulalie seemed to brighten.
“That soon?”
He
nodded. “Yeah. It won’t take us long once we get the frame up.”
“How
handy you and your uncle are.”
She
sounded as if she was honestly grateful, but Nick had learned long ago
not to trust a female. He squinted suspiciously and said, “That’s
us, all right. We’re a couple of handy fellows.”
“Thank
you very much. Patsy wrote to say she would be able to travel in a week
or so. Since she wrote the letter two weeks ago, I suspect she’s ready
now. I can hardly wait to see her again.”
“You
two close, are you?”
“Very.
I was afraid I was going to lose her a few months ago.”
“After
the accident.”
She
hesitated for only a second or two. “Yes. After the accident.”
He
probably shouldn’t ask—and anyhow, he didn’t really care—but
he did anyway. “What kind of accident was it?”
Again,
Eulalie hesitated. Nick felt his eyebrows draw together and endeavored
to stop them. But this wavering on Eulalie’s part seemed curious to
him. Accidents generally didn’t take a whole lot of thought to describe.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Eulalie Gibb
and her story than she’d let on.
“She
was badly cut.”
The
nature of the injuries startled Nick. “Cut? Shoot, I’m sorry. How’d
that happen?”
She
drew in an audible breath and said, “Really, Mr. Taggart, it pains
me to talk about it.”
Since
she put her hand over her astonishing bosom and shuddered when she said
it, he guessed she meant it, although he wasn’t totally convinced.
“Hmm. All right, then, we won’t talk about it.”
She
bowed her head. “Thank you.”
It
was the bowed head that did Nick in. He just hated it when women tried
to act pathetic around him. He knew better than most that females could
adopt that posture for manipulative purposes at the drop of a damned
hat. “Yeah. Sure.”
She
frowned at him. “There’s no need to take that tone with me, Mr.
Taggart.”
Before
an all-out battle of words ensued, Mrs. Johnson entered the room and
Nick had to stand up again. That’s what gentlemen did, or so his stepmother
had taught him. He never did understand why; maybe so he could be available
if one of the creatures fainted. Nevertheless, he liked Mrs. Johnson,
so he stood.
“How
do, Nicky?”
“I’m
fine, thanks. You?”
“I’m
just fine. Sit, sit,” she said, doing likewise.
“You
should have let Charles go to school today, ma’am. How’s he going
to get to be lauded as a hero if he can’t be around his friends?”
“Nicky
Taggart, you’re really something, you know that?”
Nick
only grinned.
“How
about I pack up a picnic lunch, and you take Miss Gibb out to the lakes
to see the scenery, Nicky. It’s about the only place around here that’s
got any pretty at all to it.”
“Oh,
please, Mrs. Johnson, don’t go to any trouble,” Eulalie cried before
Nick could respond. He frowned at her.
Dammit,
the lady had addressed the question to him, not her. “Uncle Junius
suggested the same thing, Mrs. Johnson. That’s mighty nice of you
to offer to pack a lunch.” He glared at Eulalie, daring her to contradict
him.
She
glared back. Figured. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Taggart. It’s entirely
too much trouble for Mrs. Johnson.”
“Nonsense,”
said Mrs. Johnson, who, from the expression on her face, was enjoying
their little contretemps. Nick thought about glaring at her, too, but
knew it would do no good. She knew him too damned well. “I think it’d
be good for you to get out and about, Eulalie. You work too hard, and
you’re never out in the daylight. A little sunshine will do you a
world of good.” Her eyes had a mischievous twinkle in them when she
turned to Nick. “And you, Nick Taggart. You need a day off. You work
too hard, too.”
Nick
said, “Huh.”
Eulalie
said, “Well …”
Mrs.
Johnson popped up from her chair. “Fine, then. It’s settled. I’ve
already got sandwiches made.” And she bustled out of the room.
Still
glaring, Eulalie said, “Honestly, Mr. Taggart, that woman has enough
to do without packing picnic lunches for us!”
“She
don’t mind.” Nick felt better about life now that he knew he was
going to spend the day with Eulalie. Not, of course, that he admired
her or anything. But if they were going to be bed partners, he figured
it wouldn’t hurt to get better acquainted. He only wished she wasn’t
such a thorny female. While her body was soft and lush, her personality
was all spikes. Maybe Bernie had it right when he called her a cactus
flower. He himself still thought of her as a prickly pear. On the other
hand, all those barbs kept her interesting.
“Don’t
you ever work?” Eulalie demanded.
The
question surprised Nick. “Sure I do. Junius and I are the local blacksmiths.
We work all the time.”
She
sniffed. “I never see you working.”
“That’s
because you only come out at night. Like a bat. Or a vampire.”
“Well,
really!”
That
line had been used on him so often, it only confirmed Nick in his opinion
of females. Any time a fellow said something they couldn’t rebut,
they’d say,
well, really!
in that snotty way. His faith in
the ordered administration of the universe thereby restored, Nick sat
back, content, and waited for Eulalie to get her traps together so they
could ride out to the lakes.
*
* * * *
The
truth was, although Eulalie was loath to admit it, she was looking forward
to spending the day with Nick Taggart. He was uncouth, true, and he
didn’t treat her like a delicate flower, as did Lieutenant Fuller,
but she liked him better than any of the other men she’d met in Rio
Peñasco to date, perhaps because of that very prickliness to his nature.
She sensed he wouldn’t lie to her, and Eulalie had good reason to
value honesty.
They
paid a visit to the smithy before setting out to the lakes. Eulalie
had never seen a blacksmith at work before, and the sight of Junius
at the forge made her think of Roman gods. She had a strange wish to
view Nick Taggart there in his leather apron, bashing away at a horseshoe
or a …
“What’s
that thing your uncle is working on, Nick?”
“He’s
pounding out a crick in the axle of that wagon.” He pointed at a disjointed
wagon resting next to the building.
“He
must be very strong,” Eulalie said, thinking Nick must be very strong,
too. She was alarmed when a tiny thrill ran through her at the notion
that some time in the not too far distant future, she’d be given the
opportunity to investigate Nick’s strength on her own.
“Yeah,
old Junius is as strong as an ox.” Nick grinned at his uncle, who
winked at him as he pounded on the axle. Lifting it with some huge tongs,
he held the strip of metal over the forge with one hand, wiped his sweating
brow with a handkerchief held in his other hand, and said, “You two
going to have a picnic?” He nodded at the basket Nick held.
“Yup.
Just came by for the gig.”
“It’s
where it always is,” said Junius. “And Claude’s out back, like
he always is.”
Giving
Junius a bright smile, Eulalie asked, “Who’s Claude?”
Nick
answered her. “Claude’s our horse. He’s a lazy son of a gun, but
he’ll work when he has to.”
Since
he walked off, Eulalie waved at Junius and scurried after him. She rounded
the corner of the building, saw a horse, and stopped in her tracks.
“Good Lord! I’ve never seen such a huge horse in my life!”
With
a grin, Nick said, “Claude’s big all right. He’s got to be, because
sometimes Junius or I have to ride him. Either one of us would bust
down a regular horse.”
“What
kind of horse is it?” Eulalie’s knowledge of horses was severely
limited.
“Belgian
draft horse. They’re big.”
“If
they’re all as big as that one, I’d say they’re huge.” In truth,
Eulalie had never ridden a horse before and didn’t particularly want
to. She’d always considered regular horses big and frightening. Claude
was a blasted monster.
He
seemed to be an amiable one, however. As soon as he spotted Nick at
the fence, he trotted over, shaking the earth with each thud of a huge
hoof. Eulalie didn’t want to get any nearer than she had to, but Nick
gestured for her to come closer. She shook her head.
“Claude’s
a friendly fellow. You’re not afraid of him, are you?”
Eulalie
thought about lying and decided against it. What was the point? “Yes.”
Nick
made a rude sound indicative of mockery. “I didn’t think you were
afraid of anything, Miss Independence.”
Giving
him an exasperated frown, Eulalie snapped, “Well, I’m afraid of
horses, so now you know. Especially huge horses, like that one.”
She
had to admit, if only to herself, however, that Claude, munching happily
on the carrot Nick had given him, didn’t look as if he aimed to leap
over the fence and trample her to death. In point of fact, he had a
rather placid expression on his face—not that Eulalie knew the first
thing about horses’ expressions.
“He’s
a big baby,” said Nick. “Really. Come on over and get acquainted.
Claude’s never snapped at anybody, and he’d rather sit up and beg
than kick anyone.”
The
mental image of that monstrous horse sitting up and begging, as her
uncle Harry’s dog Ginger used to do, was too amusing for Eulalie.
In spite of herself, she smiled. “Promise?”
“Yes.”
Nick sounded exasperated. “I promise. For Pete’s sake, Eulalie,
you don’t think I’d sic a horse on you, do you? We have a bargain,
remember? And I’m looking forward to cashing in on it.”